


Open Wide

by evil_bunny_king



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, POV Solas, Shapeshifting, fade foolery, headcanons abound, pov switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3679365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_bunny_king/pseuds/evil_bunny_king
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven-eyed, you languished in the hunt, didn’t you? Sacrificing the wolf and the hounds alike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this story has been dropped (if you hadn't already guessed :x). I still love the ideas from this, but I no longer like the direction; if I do come back to this, I'll be starting again.

The sky churned above him, clouds sundering before the drag of the breach, the glow of the fade casting a pale green pallor across Solas’ skin, his upturned face. He stood, one of many, outside the tavern of an inconsequential town, watching as magic rent sky and reality apart. The pressure of the rupture pulsed out in waves, shuddering through the veil so thickly that even the half-drunk humans around him seemed to feel it – a tremor of weight that sank into flesh and bone.

His gaze roved from the rift to its point of origin, eyelids fluttering faintly in thought, fingers twitching at his sides.

The magister had decided to stage his attempt at the Conclave, after all.

An unfortunate choice.

There were renewed screams as the shock of the initial blast finally reached them, slamming the shutters of the surrounding hovels and wrenching the ground from beneath their feet. Solas staggered with the impact before he found his footing again, refocusing on the faint smudge smoke now visible curling down the mountain above them. Chunks of debris were strewn across the mountain side, smears of ash against the snow, limned in red as residual flames gnawed at their edges.

The temple had been completely destroyed, then, alongside its occupants.

(raven-eyed, you languished in the hunt, didn’t you? Sacrificing the wolf and the hounds alike)

His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The activation of the focus had unleashed its residual wards as anticipated - the magister successfully extinguishing his own blighted existence with the moment of his success. The simultaneous murder of a hundred peace-keepers was a… regretful consequence (more blood to stain your already drenched hands) - but the breaching of the veil…

His gaze flicked briefly back to the shredding sky, concern creasing his brow- before he shook himself into action and weaved unnoticed out of the frantic crowd.

It was done. There was no more time. He had to collect the focus – all else would wait.

He slipped into the virgin forest that surrounded the village, melting into the trees as chaos erupted behind him – soldiers clambering up the Temple road, heraldry unfamiliar; bells pealing frantically in the small chantry’s steeple. The pressure of the rift above swelled again- spirits now welling against the breach, slipping inexorably through. He increased his pace, bare feet sinking into the soil until he was almost running, stumbling along the ridges of chasms and frozen lakes, the jawbone thudding against his chest in mimicry of his heartbeat. The path would’ve been more direct, but he skimmed his steps through the weakened veil, barely pausing for breath, despite the strain the magic exacted.

The focus wouldn’t- couldn’t return what was lost. He knew that the past was immutable, his regrets his legacy - he was no longer the hasty, foolish young man he’d once been.

He could do something for what remained of his people, though. They’d find a new existence in this alien world.

(selfish, _felassan_ )

It was several hours before he crested the edge of the crater where the Temple had once been, chest heaving, splattered with mud and blood from the tormented spirits he’d been forced to confront as he passed. He was not the first here – he could hear the hushed voices of a scout party exploring the outer limits of the site, the booted steps of more behind them. They had yet to broach the inner halls, however - so he pressed onward, averting his gaze from the smoking husks that littered the area.

(oh what you trail behind you, harellan)

The focus’ magic was strong here, his skin tingling with the force of it, its shudder through the air. The apex of the shock lay nearby and he drew towards it, extending his magic in turn, hunting, scenting.

It had been here; it had burnt its existence into the bedrock of the mountain itself, slashed apart the heavens-

But where was it?

He stretched out the web of his magic further, sinking it into cracked stones of the temple, tracing back every aftershock. He followed the shadows of power through the winding remnants of halls, snow blowing in once lofty ceilings. Close, so close - his pace quickened as he drew closer to the source, pulse matching, and he climbed into the well of the crater itself-

The breach spasmed above, fractals of reality crumpling in its grasp, the flashes of pale light splashing across the blackened ruins, as bright as a sun. But Solas’s gaze was reserved for the molten growth of rock that speared from the centre -and the absence he could now feel in its heart, though the rock still hummed with the memory of its passing.

He fell to his knees, strength leaving him.

(what else did you expect, pride?)

The focus was gone.

His mind was whirling, calculating – could the humans…? No, still too far; the magister – was dead – could it-?

But the voices of the scouts rose anew, accompanied by others - all around now, another disturbance shearing the veil, and Solas withdrew, returning to the forest, slipping into a new skin as easily as breathing.

(fool wolf)

The ash-covered slush welled beneath his every step, the warm melt rising between clawed toes like cooling blood - he couldn’t stop the tremble that arced through his limbs, the keen that threatened to break from his his chest.

It was gone.

A breath caught in his throat, shudders running down his spine.

The focus was gone. And with it…

He retreated beneath the trees, away from the clash of human voices, surrendering the thoughts that clawed through his mind to the wolf - the pain that wrenched in his chest, the lead of sorrow in his lungs.

And when he could hear nothing other than the pant of his breath, the muted thud of his step, the whistle of the wind in the leaves - he threw back his head and howled.


	2. Requiem

_Pain. It was intense, throbbing through her left hand, burning deep into her palm like a brand. She ran through her tears, arm clutched tight to her chest, ignorant of the sharp edges stones that sliced her bare feet. They were closing in on her - chasing her, screaming, a multitude of claws clicking against stone._

_It had to be rats._

_Their stench preceded them – the cloying sweetness of decay caked her tongue, clogging her nostrils. Their eyes may have rotted away but they could smell her as well as she could smell them, and she could hear their panted breaths, feel the first of them snapping at her ankles. She clambered up the stone hill as fast as she could, pulse in her mouth. Light – a way out? There had to be-There!_

_A woman beckoned at the top of the rise, silhouetted against the amorphous brightness. A point of clarity that seemed to shine in the murk that surrounded them._

_She threw herself at the outstretched hand and missed by inches._

This wasn’t real.

_She scrambled closer to try again, heart drumming frantically in her ears._

It couldn’t be real.

_But then she felt the latch of teeth into her heel, a sharper pain than the throb of her hand, a sear of reality, and her breath choked in her throat. She flailed forward, stretching out her fingers to the reaching figure above._

Please _._

_The firm clasp of a hand, a flash of light – blinding, emerald, searing into her squeezed shut eyes – and then-_

_She was swallowed. Numbed. Silent._

_.._

_Eventually, she dreamt._

_.._

 

A forest: evergreens and bare larches, snow-laden and silent save for the faint roar overhead. Breath coils around your nostrils as you run, turned to the wind. The ground is frost-hard.

Drink air into your lungs. Draw it deep, taste. In the embrace of the hunt, the scent of prey is a drug.

No thought, no fear. You care nothing for these.

Only hunger.

So you run - run until dawn gilds the horizon, muscles trembling from the miles. Until stomach is stretched full and eyes are weighed with the morning, steps slowing as the birds begin their chorus.

Turn, then, away from the stale trails. Slump into an empty glade, chest heaving, satiation thick in your limbs.

Pain. It ferments in the silence. But it’s different from the ache you expect- it’s old, woven throughout the long ravel of years, relentless in its subtle agony, and you whimper as it slinks itself back into your shadow.

Wordless murmurs. Betrayal. Regret.

The wolf doesn’t understand. It is Hale, it is Sated, and it rolls back your lips in a snarl against the encroachment, recoils from the real-not-real wounds.

But you, you recognise the bite. Don’t you?

Surrender. Endure. Tripping on your own snares, traps crafted with such ardour in the witching years, and your mistakes sink familiar teeth into your flesh: unchecked, ascendant.

A thought: you deserve this.

Breathe - almost enough, chest burning tight- (the wolf keens)

A second thought takes hold: You can offer them little else.

Offer it as penance. To a people long dead, and long beyond care.

...

At length, you tire.

Exhaustion knots its way around your limbs, beckoning to both parts of you: the release of sleep, perhaps even the blessing of sweeter dreams.

Blink through the discord of wolf and (wo)man. The hunt and the dream. What is deserved and what you take, irregardless.

Struggle.

Concede.

 

\--

“You’re an apostate, elf.”

The words were clipped, worn by a strain that was visible in the dark-haired woman that spoke them: the exhaustion marking the creases around her eyes, the weight across her armoured shoulders. Her gaze was sharp, though, unflinching as it met Solas’ – a bronzed amber narrowed in the firelight, shrewd, assessing.

He stood silent before her, keeping his own features carefully neutral. He couldn’t prevent the tremble that still ran through his fingers, but he could hide it, his hands locked impassively behind his back. It had been a long while since he had last used such magics - not since he’d emerged from uthenera, and the process of settling back into a chosen form was always an… exercise of will. The press of the veil, even in its current state, made the acclimatisation easier, an irony that didn’t escape him. Nonetheless, it was an effort. He doubted that claws would help convince this Seeker Pentaghast of the honesty of his intentions.

He ignored the pain that stirred at the acknowledgement of his exhaustion, tamping down the latent ache.

Yesterday he had indulged his grief. He couldn’t afford such weakness today.

The Seeker linked her hands together from her seat, considering him over her gauntlets; he shifted under the renewed scrutiny. The air of the small cabin was warm and dust-laden, despite the snow that piled outside: a testament to its hasty seizure during the aftermath of the explosion, the abandoned hut rendered functional only by an installed brazier. The heat melted circles of sky into the iced windows, allowing snatches of evening sunlight to haze across the smoke-filled room.

“Tell me,” she began at length, her features impassive. “Why were you not at the conclave with the others? It seems odd that you were able to avoid the fate of your brethren, mage - convenient, some would say.’

‘I was not in attendance for the simple reason that I was not invited, Seeker Pentaghast.’ He kept his voice calm, expression pleasant. ‘I hold no affiliation with either of the participating parties, although I had an interest in the proceedings.’

His situation was precarious, he knew, even barring his need to secure this woman’s trust. The appearance of an apostate, particularly an elven one, in the wake of a magical disaster was inadvisable, if not painfully ill-timed. There had been no other option, though. A remnant of the focus was cloistered in this bedraggled, little town - he could feel it, a persistent tug of fluctuating mana that hummed across the veil as he’d neared, familiar, if weak. If there were any answers to be had, they would be here.

He had to know what he had missed.

‘No affiliation?’ An eyebrow raised, the information visibly catalogued. ‘You are Dalish, then, if you weren’t circle trained?’

 _Dalish_.

‘I am neither, Seeker. My knowledge is the result of years of magical study, of traversing and examining the fabrics of the fade itself.’ Despite his efforts, he was unable to keep the wry tone from his voice. ‘Self-taught, as it were.’

Seeker Pentaghast’s eyebrow remained high. Yet the bustle of a mustering force was still audible outside, despite the lengthening hour. He fixed upon the faint sounds, using them to anchor himself to the present. The… _ache_ was threatening his concentration, a shiver of exhaustion escaping his notice to accentuate his trembling. He needed focus.

‘Then why wait upon the conclave? If you’ve avoided official detection all this time, why threaten it by emerging now? I find it hard to believe that an _apostate_  would care about the changing stance of the chantry towards magic.’

She was shrewd. His half-truths had already been rehearsed several times that day, though, first to the frantic guards who’d escorted him through ‘Haven’s’ gates, and then at length to the peaceable, auburn-haired spy whose smile never quite reached the eyes. Even drained as he was, his tongue would not slip.

‘Given that all mages are currently apostates, the conclave did indeed concern me, and the future status of all magic users within Thedas. As you well know, Seeker.’ He gave another pleasant smile. ‘But I digress.’

She held his gaze steadily, a sourness slanting her lips, stern countenance maintained. But as expected, there was a begrudging acceptance fostered there too.

‘Very well.’ She shifted in her seat, resting her hands flat on the papers strewn on the table before her. The movement was steady, controlled. ‘Leliana informs me that you’ve offered your assistance to the inquisition, professing an… intimate knowledge of the veil and the breach itself.’

Her acceptance apparently had limits.

‘I salute your willingness to surrender yourself so calmly. I do wonder, though, just how much assistance you believe you can offer? We do have mages of our own.’ Her eye slid across his unobtrusive and worn attire, the 'circle trained' qualification going unspoken.  'Do you have a way of closing the breach?'

It was a pertinent question, if born of a crude oversimplification of the present problems. He adjusted his stance, clasping his hands more firmly together, forcing them into stillness. 'Not currently; although with study I may be able to devise a way to do so.'

One of her hands shifted to snag a particular document, raising it under the light of the desk's single candle. 'Then can you stabilise it? Or at least stem the flood of demons being spewed into the countryside as we speak? That is the sort of assistance we need at the moment, mage.'

That eyebrow twitched again in judgement, her skepticism barely masked. Her patience was as short as his withering control.

He gave her another wry smile and cut to the quick.

'Once again, seeker, without examining a rift myself, I cannot give you a clear answer. However, with my previous experiences of other weaknesses in the veil, I do believe that I can at least slow the rate of the breach's growth.' He inclined his head. 'Your mage associates have informed you of its expansion, I hope?'

Her mouth firmed in confirmation. The basic competence of the ‘Circle’ was gratifying, at least. He pressed the point, taking a measured step forward, watching her reaction carefully. This would be the decisive moment.

'It is that, the exponential deterioration of the veil, which is my primary concern. It is also one that I happen to be particularly equipped to comprehend.' He bowed his head towards the paper in her hand: a copy of his earlier testimony, if he wasn't mistaken. 'As I informed your associates, all that I require is access to the blast site and any witnesses of the event. Such magic as is able to tear through the planes of existence leave traces behind them - reflections of their passing that can impress themselves on both the dead and the living, useful in determining their origins and nature. They can also reveal their undoing.’’

He paused for barely an instant, foregoing all delicacy. ‘You have one such survivor in custody, correct?'

It was a bold move; one that could very well backfire and see him arrested in turn, although he was gambling on the seeker’s appreciation of such frankness. Nevertheless, the veil stretched at his fingertips, his nails morphing subtly with the shifting of his focus. His control was fraying, but it would be enough to ensure his continued liberty, if necessary. He _would_ find a way to access the prisoner for all that it would cost, regardless of the pain such action would engender.

He’d come so far, too far, for anything less.

'You have heard correctly, elf.' She scrutinised him for a long moment, paper falling, forgotten, back to the table. 'I would ask how, but it seems every villager within 50 miles knows as well, given the numbers of them clustering around the village like a gaggle of geese. Nevertheless.'

She allowed the moment to linger, a silence falling between them, her gaze holding his. He waited, tension coiling in exhausted limbs, claws catching on the fabric of his tunic.

Then she sighed, and atmosphere eased like a cut bowstring.

Her gaze fell to the papers before her, flicking over them as she sorted them into a haphazard pile, his file shuffled and lost amidst the rest. He forced the tension out of his hands, affixed his corporeality once more, even as his eyes lingered on the flash of sweat-darkened hair against her nape, briefly visible as she twisted in her seat to store the documents in a crate below the table. She was satisfied, for the time being at least. He could even detect the edge of a tired smile tugging at the corner of her lips when she looked up at him again, placing her hands decisively on the table.

'Well. Maker forbid sworn secrecy should be considered an obstacle in times such as this.’

He worked his lips into an echo of her smile, anticipation and trepidation coursing through his veins, replacing the energy he didn’t have. He couldn’t fool himself into thinking that this acceptance was anything but provisional – but it was a chance that he’d barely hoped for, a chance to salvage the situation, to move onward once more.

If he felt a pang of regret as well when he followed the seeker to her feet, an echo of resignation at the certainty of his task, he didn’t acknowledge it.  He’d crafted and laid every blood-stained stone of this forsaken path. It was his to follow.

The seeker shrugged her armour more comfortably across her shoulders with a suppressed wince before striding briskly towards the door, hardly waiting to see if he would follow. ‘Perhaps you will have better luck with her than we have. Come.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little change in style now that we're out of the prologue - we're losing the dramatic brackets, for the moment at least. I'm sorry that we haven't formally met Lavellan yet - if it makes you feel better, I am actually writing that scene now and was going to include it with this, but this bit works comprehensively by itself and I'm re-entering maelstrom of exams and deadlines all too soon so I wanted to update before then. And look - I actually came up with a chapter title. :D
> 
> I don't know why the endnote formatting is screwing up, btw. :'( send help. Also I swear I am done editing this chapter now. Not sure how subscription works, so I'm really sorry if it pinged you multiple times while I fiddled with the last of the wording...

**Author's Note:**

> Will be updating the tags as more characters are introduced - the prologue is a little spare, as you can tell. Updates will be slow as I have three months left of my master's degree, but I'm trying to use writing as a stress reliever so hopefully they will bolster each other. And after that's done... ;) As for the overall direction of this... I am juggling a bunch of ideas. Summary will be updated to reflect my eventual decision. The prologue opens them all up, in any case. :x


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